


i wonder if you wonder about me too

by thephanlock



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Don't worry, Feelings Realization, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, One Shot, POV Third Person, Present Tense, all out war, daryl gets hurt, kind of, neither of them die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-27
Updated: 2017-05-27
Packaged: 2018-11-05 17:18:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11017962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thephanlock/pseuds/thephanlock
Summary: With every step he takes, his feet ache just a little more, his heart beating a little faster with something indescribable between anticipation and dread.It was never supposed to end like this.





	i wonder if you wonder about me too

**_i wonder if you wonder about me too_ **

 

With every step he takes, his feet ache just a little more, his heart beating a little faster with something indescribable between anticipation and dread. It was never supposed to end like this.

Then again, now he thinks back on it, he supposes it was doomed from the beginning, the pair of them only meeting after the world had given up on itself, ready to keel over and die. He remembers the chasing act, Daryl running after him around the field, ducking so Jesus could shoot the walker quickly approaching before delivering a swift punch to his face.

He remembers trying to steal the van full of supplies - not _quite_ being successful - and being knocked out for his troubles, the door of the van hitting him as the vehicle reversed, rolling backwards into the river.

He remembers feigning unconsciousness, rolling towards Daryl just a _little_ too much, exaggerating the twists and turns of the road and falling onto him. He remembers being shoved towards the window, carried into Rick’s home in Alexandria, remembers being watched by Daryl and given food by the Alexandrians, despite the fact that they’d only met a few hours ago.

“Thanks for the food and the water,” Jesus said, causing Daryl’s head to snap up - clearly he hadn’t been aware Jesus had woken up. Of course, he also hadn’t known that he had been awake since the journey back.

“Not my idea,” Daryl mumbled back, lips set in a straight line, determined not to give any emotion away. “My idea was leaving you up a tree.” At that, Jesus laughed. He goddamn _laughed._ He couldn’t help it.

“You were going to leave me up a tree?” He replied, trying to keep the smirk off his face but not quite getting there. Daryl nodded. “Why didn’t you?”

“Rick,” Daryl shot back, as though the simple answer explained everything and Jesus supposed, in a way, it did.

“You’re a man of many words, Daryl.” Jesus teased, mischievous smirk still playing on his lips. As soon as he had said those words, he could see Daryl tense up but he wasn’t sure whether it was out of anger that this man was making assumptions about him, frustration that this man was _still_ speaking to him or that Jesus had simply hit a nerve. “I’ll get you to open up.” He promised, half joking half serious, before taking another sip of water.

Thinking back on that now, it takes everything he has not to fall to his knees and sob, the consistent and unforgiving ache in his chest growing stronger and more persistent with every passing second.

Although it was difficult to pinpoint exactly when, somewhere along the way, one word sentences had grown longer, Daryl had begun taking more trips to Hilltop, then he’d started staying in Jesus’ trailer (‘ _I’m used to having lots of people around, it’s no big deal,’_ He had said after Maggie had had to move into the hospital wing, nine months pregnant and counting).

Somewhere along the way, _Jesus_ had become _Paul._

And then, they had stood side by side on the front line of the fight, guns held high as they crouched down low, hiding behind overturned bins and firing bullets at passing Saviors and others just within their reach.

A silent nod and they were on their way into the compound.

And now, there was no going back. He was too emotionally attached, too invested to draw back from the situation, to not be affected deeply by what was inevitable.

He should have known that they’d get separated eventually. It’s a big compound, there’s lots of people scurrying around, lots of bodies scattered around also and Paul can’t help but take a quick glance over each of their faces just to check that none of them are Daryl.

Every time his heart beats ten times faster and every time he’s been able to sigh out a breathe of relief. So far, at least.

That wasn’t to say there weren’t a few close calls. On more than one occasion, his heart had dropped to his stomach as the corpse on the floor, looking a little too disfigured to be completely identified, had bared too much resemblance to Daryl. Whether it be a similar hairstyle or a crossbow being wielded on their back, anything that would look _something_ like Daryl upon first glance made his world feel as though it was crumbling around him.

Resisting the urge to call out for him, Paul edges round a corner, peeking around the side of the wall to get a quick glance of what waits for him a few steps away. Unsurprisingly, there are two Saviors stood guarding a, most likely occupied, cell. He takes a deep breath and steps forward into the open, shooting them both down without a second thought.

Especially over the last few months, he’s found that thinking about the enemies and the lives they may lead, the families they may have only makes you hesitate and hesitating gets you killed. When it’s you or them, you _can’t_ care about what they’re leaving behind, you don’t have the time.

Before he has any chance to think about what he's just done and his next move, he hears a series of footsteps heading towards him, getting faster and getting louder by the second. With one glance across the scene, it's clear that the only place to hide would be in a cell and he's willing to bet that they're all locked or occupied.

Raising his gun, Paul stands his ground and breathes deeply, hoping whatever comes around the corner comes before he can think about how awful his ‘plan’ is.

“Woah, Jesus, it’s just me,” Maggie’s voice echoes down the hallway, sounding more worried than anything else. “Rick says most of ‘em have ran or been killed, but you gotta come outside quick, Daryl’s been shot.”

“What?” And before either of them can say anything else, Paul’s sprinting towards the nearest exit, all sense of caution thrown away, caring about nothing more than seeing Daryl and making sure he was okay.

When he finally makes it outside, he can see the van they drove here in in the distance, a crowd of people surrounding it, milling around. And that’s all he needs to see before his heart goes plummeting to his stomach _again._

“Rick! What happened?” Jesus shouts out, only a few strides away now, not caring about how overly concerned he sounds for a friend. He figures most of them know of his feelings by now - he’s obvious enough.

“Savior shot ‘im. Back turned, gone straight through his side above ‘is hip, come here and press down on this.” Rick shoots back, handing him a flannel - probably Aaron’s - which he hastily presses down on the wound. “Climb in, we’re leavin’.” With that, he’s gone, climbing into the front of the van with Michonne and Aaron, leaving him alone in the back with Daryl, door shut behind them.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he registers several engines revving, bursting to life, before they’re off, moving a little too fast to keep Daryl stable. As though he knew what Paul was thinking, Daryl let out a groan.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Paul mumbles, unsure of whether he’s trying to convince himself or Daryl. His hands press down on the wound a little harder, blood seeping around the corner of the fabric. “Just hold still.”

Deep down, Paul knows that the wound shouldn’t be fatal, that it _probably_ missed vital organs, that he’s definitely seen people survive worse injuries. Still, that does nothing to calm his racing mind.

“Yer okay?” Daryl murmurs. Paul only just catches the question, Daryl’s voice raspy and no louder than a whisper. Trying not to think too hard about what’s happening, Paul’s hand finds its way to Daryl’s cheek, moving a stray hair out of his eyes and, much to his surprise, Daryl doesn’t shrug him off.

“Yeah, just a few scrapes.” He replies as Daryl’s eyes scan him, searching for injuries, until they fall upon a pool of blood spread across his shirt. “Not mine.” He clarifies and pulls his full attention, and both hands, back down to Daryl’s wound.

After a while, the blood starts to leak through the flannel and he tosses it to the side, taking the bandana from around his neck and using that instead.

“‘M gonna need to apologise to Aaron later, he’s down a shirt.” Daryl jokes, lips pulling upwards into a forced smile, looking more like a grimace, so small it’s barely there.

“I’m sure he’ll understand.” Paul teased, unable to stop a smile from gracing his features in spite of the predicament they had found themselves in.

Of course, that would be the time that the van hit a hole in the road. Daryl let out another pained groan.

“Hey, stay with me. We’re not losing you today. We’ll be there soon, okay?” Daryl replies with a simple nod. “Okay.” Paul whispers, trying to keep calm, despite the fact that Daryl had now almost bled through his bandana.

The minutes drag on, feeling like days, until they finally pull up to the gates of Hilltop - simply because it’s closer to the Saviors compound - and then, all hell breaks loose. Before the van even comes to a complete stop, Rick and Aaron are launching themselves out of the vehicle, running in different directions to get help, whilst Michonne makes a beeline for Daryl, helping Paul carry him into Barrington House.

He can almost feel the eyes of the Hilltop residents that didn’t go on the raid on them, burning a hole through his coat with ease as they speculate and gossip. Though, it doesn’t take much to pull his full attention back to Daryl.

“Dr. Carson!” Michonne yells, shifting some of the weight over to Paul before kicking open the door to the infirmary with ease. “Shot through the hip, he’s lost a lot of blood.” Michonne says. Paul almost envies how calm she appears, always somehow collected even during the hardest of times. Then again, if Rick were in Daryl’s position, he finds it hard to believe that she would still react as she is doing now.

“Put him on the table.” Paul expects to be able to breathe a sigh of relief now that Daryl is in safe hands but it doesn’t come, not as he places him onto the metal table, listening for more instructions. “Jesus, maybe you should leave, you’re not going to want to see this.” Dr Carson suggests and maybe he’s right, but that just makes him all the more determined to stay.

“I’m not leaving him.” He says firmly, removing his jacket with haste and throwing it onto a nearby chair. “What do you need me to do?”

 

* * *

 

 

It takes an hour or so of Dr Carson operating, pulling a fragment of the bullet out of the area just above Daryl’s hipbone, lodged just behind it. The amount of concentration on Dr Carson’s face still isn’t enough for Paul to feel relieved, his hand grasping Daryl’s tightly - he hasn’t let go since they arrived.

After about fifteen more minutes of tugging a needle and thread through the wound and stitching it up, Carson announces that they’re done and removes his gloves.

“He’ll be out for a while but he’s going to be okay,” He says, directed more at Paul than Michonne - the two of them had been the only ones in the room during the operation, despite the fact that neither of them had much medical experience. “You can breathe. He’s going to be fine.”

“Thank you, Dr Carson.” Paul replies, not moving from his place beside Daryl, hand still holding his, uncaring of what those around him might assume. Seeing that it was unlikely he'd be moving anytime soon, Michonne pulls a chair towards Paul, which he accepts with a brief nod.

“I'm going to tell the others he's okay, I'll be back later, okay?” She says, before both her and Dr Carson are gone, the door to the infirmary pulled gently to a close behind them. It's now that Paul finds himself letting out a sigh of relief, as he watches the even rise and fall of Daryl’s chest. It's now that he realises that Daryl actually _is_ going to be alright.

It's now that the waiting game begins.

 

* * *

 

 

Half an hour passes before anyone comes to see Daryl. When the first knock on the door sounds, Paul’s surprised to find that it's Maggie, not Rick, and that she's here to see him, not Daryl.

“How you doing?” She asks, dragging a chair across the floor and placing it next to his own, the scraping sound echoing around the cramped and untidy room. When Maggie looks across at him, Paul opens his mouth to answer but can't find the words. Instead, he settles for a shrug and a small smile. “You gotta tell him, y’know.” She suggests, a knowing smirk on her features.

“Tell him what?” Paul answers and in that moment, Maggie can't tell if he's playing dumb or genuinely doesn't know what she's talking about. Not too harshly, she bumps her shoulder into his.

“You're a good liar but you know what I'm on about.” She says and Paul can't help himself from looking down at his and Daryl’s joined hands, a little smile subconsciously finding its way to his lips as a warmth he's never felt before spreads throughout his entire body.

“Yeah, I do.” Paul admits. What if all the signs he's been seeing are in his head? What if he's blown everything out of proportion? What if he loses his newfound friendship with Daryl over some stupid feelings he can't contain, feelings that probably aren't returned? “But I can't.”

“You're scared he doesn't feel the same,” Maggie states, no sense of doubt in her voice. Nodding as though Maggie didn't already know, Paul lifts his gaze from his and Daryl’s joined hands to look at the woman beside him. “He may not show it right now but I promise ya, you have nothing to worry about.”

“I just don't want to scare him off, you know?” He replies, trying extra hard to maintain eye contact, even though everything inside him is yelling for him to look away.

“I get it but you won't,” Maggie says but after a moment’s pause, she speaks up again. “Okay, maybe he’ll be cautious at first, but he’ll realise in the end.” Of course, Paul had taken this account, had pictured Daryl spontaneously going on a hunt as soon as Paul opened his mouth. But somehow, Maggie saying it, confirming his thoughts but sounding so certain that Daryl would come back, somehow it makes him feel more calm. After all, Maggie has known Daryl for much longer than he has. “Well, I better be going, it looks like someone's close to waking up and I don't think he’ll wanna be crowded like a zoo animal when he does.”

“Maggie?” He calls, her hand pausing as it reaches for the handle. “Thank you.” At that, she turns around to face him once more, a warm, welcoming smile appearing, one that reaches her eyes.

“Y’all deserve to be happy, _both_ of you.” She gestures between the two of them, before closing the door behind her.

 

* * *

 

Maggie was right when she had said that Daryl was close to waking up since, barely five minutes after she’d left, his eyes are twitching, fluttering open, before the panic sets in and he’s hastily trying to climb out of bed. Forcing himself into action, despite the fatigue setting in after the long raid, Paul reaches across him and gently pushes him back against the pillow.

“Don’t get up, you were shot, you’re at Hilltop.” He shushes, trying to sound as calm as possible in hopes that some of that feeling will pass on to Daryl. Surprisingly, Daryl does as he’s told and sits back. After that, silence falls between them.

Paul tells himself it’s all in his imagination when he thinks he sees Daryl’s eyes soften when his gaze falls upon him.

“Dr. Carson doesn’t think there’s any lasting damage, there’ll be a scar of course, I mean there usually is when a bullet goes straight through your hip but he thinks it’ll heal just fine and--”

“Paul,” Daryl interrupts and Paul is shocked to see that he’s trying his hardest to stifle a laugh. “You’re ramblin’. You ramble when you’re worried about somethin’. What is it?” At that, Paul sighs and looks down. After all this time, he should know that Daryl knows him better than anyone else, knows all his little habits and mannerisms.

“It’s nothing.” Paul shoots back a little too quickly, all of his lying abilities seeming to have disappeared once Daryl was looking at him. It only takes Daryl letting out a semi-annoyed huff for him to crack. It’s in that moment that he decides to lay all his cards on the table, to go for broke.

“When we were first fighting the Saviors in Alexandria, I realised something. I, I couldn’t lose you, I _can’t_ lose you. And then, I got to know you even better and those feelings, they only got stronger.” He pauses for a moment, takes a breath and stares intently at his hands, twiddling his thumbs as he desperately tries to busy himself. “When you got shot, I was terrified. I didn’t know what I’d do without you, not anymore and it _terrified_ me. I can’t live without you, I’m, I guess what I’m trying to say is I love you, am in love with you.”

After a second or so of uncomfortable silence, Paul can’t help but let more words spill out, the dam now breaking after so many months of secrecy.

“I know you probably don’t feel the same and--”

“Paul,”

“That’s okay but I couldn’t lie to you anymore and--”

“ _Paul,”_ Daryl insists, his hand reaching out to cover Paul’s. “Look at me.” He drags his eyes from where their hands meet and forces himself to look at Daryl and it’s a little too close to emotional. They’ve never really talked about things like this before, not even after the start of the war. To say it feels foreign would be an understatement. “You ain’t got nothing to worry about. ‘M in love with you too.”

“What?” Paul says, feeling as though his brain has just short circuited. In reply, Daryl nods his head and intertwines their fingers, drawing both of their eyes in that direction. He can’t help the chuckle that escapes his lips at the hilarity of it all. Eyebrow cocked, Daryl looks confused. “Of _course_ it takes you getting shot for me to finally get the balls to say anything.”

And when he looks back up, the distance between them feels so much smaller, so much easier to cross.

So, he does.

Stopping himself from overthinking anything more than he already has, Paul leans forward and presses his lips to Daryl’s, an action that’s welcomed as Daryl’s lips move against his own, pressing back. It’s like they’re suddenly teenagers again, both of them having to pull away, struggling to kiss anymore since they’re grinning too hard.

“Daryl Dixon, are you _smiling_?” Paul taunts, earning a playful punch on his arm from Daryl. “Careful! You’ll tear your stitches.”

“Caring as ever, now come ‘ere and kiss me again.”

And he does.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on tumblr over [here](https://stillsanvers.tumblr.com) and come chat with me about all things TWD! Hope you liked this, don't forget to leave a kudos and/or comment if you did :)


End file.
